


Monsters (don't) exist

by gidget_84



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:17:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gidget_84/pseuds/gidget_84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 2 AU</p><p>She never used to believe in monsters, so why would she start now? There was no such thing as a dead man coming back to life, or a boy that only appeared to her and no one else.</p><p>____________________________________________________________________________________</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monsters (don't) exist

Lydia never used to believe in monsters; not the kind that lived under the bed or in the closet; not even the kind that a person’s mind could conjure up. Even as a child, she was always so logical; sure she could use her imagination as well as any other child. But why imagine unicorns, fairies, or being a princess, when her dreams had always been far bigger.

\-------

She never used to believe in monsters, so why would she start now? There was no such thing as a dead man coming back to life, or a boy that only appeared to her and no one else.

The two were certainly not tied together either; like some strange amalgamation of the boy really being the man all grown up. Some poor soul trying to communicate to her from beyond the grave; Even if who attacked her had _not_ been just any poor soul, or really “poor” at all. He had deserved whatever had become of him.

Still, the hallucinations, for lack of a better word, were all the visions really were. It was all only in her mind and nothing more. She knew psychology, seeing the man was a side effect of the attack, of what had happened to her; the effects of PTSD at its best.

In time she would get better, at least, that’s what she always told herself.

\-------

She was a bit skittish now too; startled easily. Anyone would be though that saw and felt what she did.  Seeing and feeling (imagining) the charred hand of her attacker sweep across the skin of her cheek; whispering things to her that she never quite remembered.

\-------

What she would see wasn’t all bad; the handsome boy who gave her purple flowers was always particularly nice and she would never get tired of wandering through that beautiful house.

\-------

But the man, the man was the most terrible. He made her feel and want things she _should not_ feel or want. She would wake up flushed all over from dreaming of him and then feel ashamed of herself; at what she _could not_ want from him, want with him.

She could never escape him in her dreams; did not even have the luxury of being repulsed by his appearance because he was always whole and new. Skin no longer burnt, hair no longer gone, mouth no longer filled with ashes.

\-------

The mouth that would kiss her forehead, her cheeks, and finally her lips, always so feathery light. Until _she_ pulled him in closer; until _she_ coaxed his lips to part under hers to deepen the kiss.

She would look into his clear blue eyes, and all she saw was a man who wanted her, who _needed_ her. But, that had to be an illusion; no one could want or need her that much. No one in reality did, so why would he?

\-------

When she wakes up, she feels ashamed, but when she falls asleep she eagerly waits for the dreams of him and hopes they never end.


End file.
